


Logic

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ANGST ANGST ANGST BABEY, Angst, Logan-centric, canonverse, theyre not friends but dee does try to help lo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: Logic was stoic, Logic was emotionless, Logic was composed and responsible and critical.Logan, on the other hand, was crumpled onto his carpet at one in the morning.





	Logic

**Author's Note:**

> this is a kind-of-old work that i never posted on here for some reason? anyway enjoy some logan angst :)

Logan had forgotten how to breathe. 

_Forgotten_ was a dramatic term, actually - he remembered the steps involved in respiration quite well, it’s just that he couldn’t seem to make himself walk through them successfully. Every time he tried to inhale and exhale, to follow a pattern through his lungs, the air stopped short, and he choked; his chest felt like a vortex, sucking up any drop of oxygen he took in before it reached its destination and leaving him gasping on the floor of his bedroom.

His eyes were warm. He could feel that, even amidst the frenzy in his head. He felt that warmth leak over his cheeks and rise behind his eyes again as a stinging pressure. He didn’t swipe at the tracks it left across his face - he knew his fingers would come away wet, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that information right in front of him. Logic did not cry. He would squeeze his eyes shut and deny the pressure behind them until it stopped, and he would tell himself the line over and over again: Logic did not cry. Logic did not cry, did not forget how to breathe, did not have a panic attack in his bedroom in the middle of the night. Logic was stoic, Logic was emotionless, Logic was composed and responsible and critical. 

Logan, on the other hand, was crumpled onto his carpet at one in the morning. 

He didn’t know what started it; he’d been asleep, just as he always was after nine o’clock, when suddenly he wasn’t, and his fingers were curled into his bedsheets as if they were his lifeline before he was stumbling out of bed and toward the door. He just wanted water. His throat felt like the Sahara. But then the door was a thousand miles away and twisting like a kaleidoscope, and he was too tired, too confused and dazed to blink it all away and make it normal once more. He didn’t know what was wrong - he’d eaten enough, finished all of Thomas’ work, slept normally the last few nights - but he was on his knees, hands curled into his hair as he fought to bring his mind back to the bare reality. 

It was one in the morning. He was on his floor. This was his bedroom. He was panicking, and he needed to breathe, but he couldn’t, and then his eyes were warm and it was seeping from their corners and spilling down his face. 

“What’s wrong, Logan? Can’t handle a nightmare?”

He was suddenly glad his throat is tight, if just to muffle the scream that rose in it as he whipped to face the voice. 

The moonlight drifting mindlessly through his window did little to light Deceit’s figure, but the snake’s eyes still seemed luminescent as he gazed half-lidded at Logan. For once, his slitted mouth was set in a tight line, far more stern than the slithery smirk that so often painted his face. He looked disappointed. 

“I didn’t ask you a question,” he said flatly, leaning against the baseboard of Logan’s bed, arms crossed. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare.” Deceit’s eyebrow quirked up as Logan finally choked out a breath - the logical side’s voice barely convinced himself, and he knew, with a jolt of something sharp and painful through his heart, that Deceit had no trouble discerning the lie. 

“Right,” the snake drawled. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

Despite the racing pulse of his heart in his chest, Logan glared up at him as he dragged himself to the wall beside his desk, as far away from the other Side as he could manage. “Can I help you with something?”

Deceit bristled, lips pursed. “The moment you regain some sanity and you choose to sass me? Lovely etiquette.” He paused, as if waiting for Logan to respond, but when the logical side stayed silent, he just sighed and dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed. “How could I not come? You’re like a shindig of denial, and that is my area of expertise, no?” He chuckled to himself. “Both shindigs and denial.”

“Get out of my room, Deceit.” Now that his breathing was finally under control and the pressure in his eyes subsided, Logan just felt drained, and he was in no mood to continue the conversation; he just wanted to crawl back into bed and force this entire scene to the back of his memory. 

“I don’t think so,” Deceit huffed - Logan didn’t miss the fact that his backwards-meaning statements had ceased, and the snake seemed sleepily resigned to the tedious truth. “Shocking as it may be, dear Logic, I actually don’t want Thomas to have a breakdown, and you sniveling on your floor doesn’t bode well for that goal. I make no offer for comfort, but perhaps it’s time you simply admit you, too, can be an emotional mess.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Don’t act surprised. I know you’re aware of your feelings, even under layers of repudiation - don’t look at me like that, you’re not the only one who knows big words - and forcing them down will only pull you apart. Just say it, Logan. You have feelings.” He looked down his nose at the logical side, a smirk hinting at his lips once more as he shrugged, “And you’re a snuffling wuss, but you can save that admission for when you’re ready.” 

Logan narrowed his eyes, indignation flaring like a forest fire in his chest. “I don’t recall asking for your advice.”

“Admit it, Logan,” Deceit said slower, more enunciated, as if Logan hadn’t even spoken in the first place. “And then you can run off to the rest of the Sides and whine about me bothering your beauty sleep.” His head cocked to the side. “Unless I get to them first. We could have a very lovely discussion about your night terrors - I’m sure they’d all find it very riveting, to find out their high and mighty Logic is so easily reduced to tears.”

And the air was gone from his lungs all over again. Images flashed through his head like a movie on fast-forward: Roman’s smile as he jeered, Virgil’s silent judgement, and Patton… he didn’t even want to imagine Patton’s face in the situation. Would he be disappointed? Disgusted? Would he laugh, having known all along that Logan’s robotic facade was just that? A facade, so carefully constructed with crumbling cards, impeccable to the eye but threatening to topple over at any moment.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the logical said quietly, fingers curling into the carpet beneath them.

“Oh, but wouldn’t I?” Deceit’s mouth twisted into a snarl before he seemed to get a hold on himself once more; he stared down at Logan, eyebrow raised like a frustrated parent, and his sudden sigh filled the room like a gunshot. “Fine, Logan. Keep it all to yourself. 

“See if I care when you breakdown in front of all your precious family,” he hissed as he stood from his prim position on the bed, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And he was gone. 

Logan sat alone in his room again, still pressed to the wall in a near-fetal curl, chest heaving with effort he hadn’t noticed he needed to breathe. His eyes were heavy with the residue of tears and exhaustion as he stared blankly ahead. Deceit’s words rang through his head like an echo- even as Logan stood and stumbled to his bed, collapsing into the sheets and squeezing his eyes shut, they burned at the forefront of his mind. 

_Logic was stoic. Logic was emotionless. Logic was composed._

The next time Logan woke with a nightmare tearing at his head, he swallowed the screams and forced his mind quiet once more.


End file.
